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"From Sweetwater Spring to the corner."

"Yep, same place. That's new wire."

"Not anymore it isn't," Grier snapped. "He cut it up in two-foot pieces and bundled them with baling twine."

"Sounds like he has been busy." Taylor had to laugh, thinking of the little old man meticulously cutting up four strands of barbed wire and tying them in bundles. She wondered how many times he cut himself.

"It isn't funny, Taylor. I've had enough. I'm suing him for every penny he owes me. I've got a list of everything he has cost this ranch." Grier had worked up a head of steam and wasn't going to be denied his tirade.

Taylor couldn't help wondering if Jen Holland did as she promised and talked with her father. She had no reason to believe Jen would have lied to her but if Rowdy did indeed destroy another section of Fleming fence her words must have fallen on deaf ears. If Jen was right, if her father was succumbing to senile dementia, perhaps all the words, pleadings and warning in the world wouldn't have made any difference.

"I'm on my way to town. I'll have a talk with Sheriff Dunton. Tell Cesar not to touch the fence until he can get there to look at it. He'll need evidence to prosecute, again."

"Rowdy was standing right there. He admitted doing it. He said it was his fence. He said he didn't like it there. He wanted to move it to the other side of the river."

"What river? There's no river there," Taylor scoffed.

"Cesar said he was standing there in his old greasy straw hat and his worn boots. Do you want to know what else he was wearing?"

"What?" she asked, not really sure she cared.

"Not a damn thing. He was naked as the day he was born."

"You're kidding? Naked?" She chuckled at the thought.

"Yep. Bet he got one heck of a sunburn." Grier laughed victoriously as if it served Rowdy right for destroying his property.

"I bet he did." Taylor immediately thought of Jen. She must have been right. Rowdy had completely lost touch with reality and was beyond reason. Taylor couldn't help but feel sorry for Jen and for Rowdy.

"Gotta go," he said. "We're on our way to get the cows off the road."

"You need me to come up there?" she asked, suddenly sorry she hadn't been available.

"No. We'll take care of this. You go on to town. Cesar said you better pick up a few more reels of wire if there are any left in Harland." Grier broke the connection.

Taylor tossed her cell on the seat and shook her head disgustedly.

"Well, Ms. Holland, sounds like you didn't do much."

Taylor pressed on the gas pedal, anxious to get to town. As much as she didn't want to prosecute a helpless old man, she knew the Cottonwood Ranch couldn't continue to excuse random acts of vandalism and theft. Perhaps her father was right. Pinching Rowdy in the pocketbook might be the only way to stop him.

She removed her hat and tossed it on the seat then ruffled her hair, something she did when she was mad enough to spit rocks. She roared down the road, slinging a plume of dust behind her. The ruts yanked at the steering wheel, making the truck swerve back and forth. She eased up on the gas pedal and brought the trailer under control. She heard a bang and the trailer pulled hard to the left.

"Now what?" she yelled, taking her foot off the gas and allowing the truck to come to a stop. She looked out the window, craning her neck to see the trailer tire. But she really didn't need to—the loud bang and the pull on the wheel meant it was flat. Disgusted, she climbed out and slammed the door hard. The trailer had come to rest against the ridge of plowed dirt and rocks, partially submerged in the soft stuff.

"I don't have time for this today," she grumbled, kicking the flat tire with the toe of her boot. She gave thought to calling Lexie and asking her to bring the portable air tank and a can of fix-a-flat but that would take longer than if she just changed it herself.

Taylor rummaged in the toolbox for the scissor jack and tire iron. She would have to remove the flat, unhook the trailer, take the tire to town for repair then return to the trailer. It didn't bother her to leave the trailer by the side of the road. It would be safe. The cottonwood tree painted across the side told anyone who happened by that this was a Fleming trailer. Besides, she hadn't passed a single vehicle since she left the house and she would probably be back before anyone drove by.

It took some doing but she finally found a spot that was level and solid enough to support the jack. She raised the trailer just enough to roll the tire off and tossed it into the back of the truck. She planned on wedging the bale of hay she was carrying under the axle for support but the weight of trailer had begun to sink it into the soft dirt along the edge of the road, too far to allow clearance for the bale. She needed to jack it up higher. As she raised the trailer it shifted toward the ditch.

"No, no, no," she muttered, trying to shove the bale under the fender but she felt the ground move under her feet. She grabbed the trailer to regain her footing but it was too late. The parched earth was too soft to hold her weight and it gave way. Not only was Taylor sliding down the ditch but the trailer was sliding down as well. The bale of hay was crushed as the axle gouged a trough through the rocks and weeds. She couldn't stop it. The trailer slid down the embankment, the torque of it strain­ing at the trailer hitch and safety chain.

"Whoa, baby," Taylor called as she pushed against the wheel well but she was no match for it. She could hear the wrenching sounds of the hitch as the trailer tongue twisted the ball. She knew the hitch was capable of pulling the trailer down the high­way but the breakaway action meant that in case of a rollover accident, the trailer hitch would release and not flip the truck with it. Taylor dug her heels into the dirt and leaned hard against the slow but steady sliding trailer. She was well below the trailer, standing at the bottom of the ditch. Suddenly the hitch snapped. The front of the trailer lurched toward the embankment, the sound of the tongue scraping across the road then digging into the dirt.

"Stop. Stay up there, you sucker," she muttered, gritting her teeth as she pushed against the side.

The axle dug itself into the dirt and came to a stop but the front of the trailer continued down the slope until the weight of it began to tip the side toward Taylor.

"NO!" she yelled as the trailer slowly tilted over her. She tried to get out of the way but her boots were wedged too deep into the soft dirt. The trailer fell over on her, pushing her back and pinning her to the bottom of the ditch. The valley was deep enough to offer her a protective well from the full weight of the heavy trailer but she could hear the distinctive sound of two snaps then a shooting pain rising from her legs, a pain that took her breath away and left her motionless. She screamed in agony as the metal side came to rest across her lap, mashing her into the hot dirt. She grabbed the trailer as if hugging it would ease the excruciating pain as the fender pressed across her lower legs. She felt the pain instantly sap her strength, leaving her helpless to move even her arms. She gritted her teeth and fell back, her head striking a small rock—and everything went black.

Chapter 5

"Taylor, wake up, honey. Open your eyes. Come on, its time to get up now. You'll be late for school if you don't open your eyes right this minute. Taylor. Taylor. Open your eyes. Taylor Fleming, you answer your mother. Breakfast is on the table. Come on now." The school bus was waiting outside, honking and flashing its lights. A stream of chil­dren was climbing in and out of the open door, running around the bus, laughing at her for not opening her eyes. A cattle trailer was rolling toward her, its tires wobbling and clattering against the rocks in the road. Her mother stood on the porch, waving at the bus and the chil­dren as they continued to skip around it, laughing and playing. "Taylor. Open your eyes now, honey."

Taylor's mother's voice wafted in and out of her consciousness. Taylor wanted to reply. She wanted to open her eyes. She was trying but they wouldn't open. Someone was holding them shut. She also wanted to move. But someone was holding her legs down. She tried to move her hand but it weighed a ton. Nothing would respond to her efforts.

"Taylor, honey. Open your eyes." Her mother's voice floated toward Taylor through a fog, growing louder and clearer. "It's mother, honey. You're fine. It's all over now. You'll be fine, sweetheart."

Taylor could feel her mother's lips press a kiss against her forehead, the kiss she remembered from her childhood when she came running home with a boo-boo, tears streaming down her face. She struggled to open her eyes. A bright light blinded her vision and she closed them again.

"That's it. Open your eyes, sweetheart." Sylvia stroked Taylor's hair.

Taylor blinked and strained against the bright light to see her mother's face.

"There you are," her mother cooed, patting Taylor's hand gently.

Taylor rolled her eyes up to meet her mother's. She was leaning over her, smiling a cautious and concerned smile. Taylor raised her hand a few inches, a stabbing pain meeting her every move. She tried to speak but nothing came out.

"Easy now. Just rest," Sylvia said reassuringly. "I'm right here for you, honey." She patted Taylor's head and kissed her.

When Taylor woke up again she could hear voices, women's voices talking about things she didn't understand. They were technical things and they sounded like medical terms.

"Hello, Ms. Fleming," a friendly voice said. She was moving Taylor's arm and wrapping something around it. There was a squeezing sensation. Taylor tried to pull her arm away but the woman held tight to it. "You're fine. I'm just taking your blood pressure. Relax your arm, hon."

Taylor didn't understand what was going on but she did as she was told. She relaxed and closed her eyes. When she did, she realized her legs hurt and hurt bad. They felt like they were on fire. She opened her eyes again and tried to reach for them but she couldn't move. She wanted to scream out at the sudden explosion of pain but she couldn't speak or move.

"Are you in pain?" the woman asked, releasing Taylor's arm and placing it under the covers. "Do you need something for pain?"

Taylor nodded, her eyes pleading with the woman to take the pain away. The woman's face disappeared. Taylor wanted to call out to her and tell her to come back but she couldn't make a sound. She closed her eyes, the pain searing itself onto her soul. She tried to move away from it but her body wouldn't respond.

"This will help, hon," the woman's voice said, patting her shoulder. Within a minute Taylor could feel a warm fuzziness settle over her and she drifted back to sleep.

The next time she opened her eyes the room was dark. Taylor could hear the sound of a rhythmic beeping. She could smell something pungent. It reminded her of bleach and cleanser. She turned her head toward the sound and saw a maze of plastic tubes leading from a machine to her arm. The lights from the machine blinked and pulsed as liquid dripped from plastic bags into the tubing. The pain she had felt in her legs was still throb­bing and burning, making her sweat. She wished she could remove the covers from her body. Perhaps she would be cooler if she could pull them off. She looked down at her legs and was shocked to see them both wrapped in bandages and suspended in slings, being held a few inches above the bed. Her toes were orange and swollen. A sheet covered her from the thigh to the neck. She tried to touch her legs and the bandages that covered them but she was too weak to reach them. She felt trapped in her body, aware she was in pain but unable to do anything about it.

"Hello, honey," her mother said, coming in the door. She had a pained expression on her face, one Taylor remembered from when she was a little girl and fell off her pony, scraping her elbow to the bone. Sylvia rushed over to the bed and kissed Taylor's forehead.

"Where am I?" Taylor asked in a weak voice, surprised at how hard it was to speak.

"I can't hear you, honey," her mother replied, leaning closer.

"Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital, sweetheart. Don't you remember? You had the accident with the trailer." Sylvia stroked Taylor sympathetically. "We were so scared. Your father has been here all day but he had to go back to the ranch and take care of some things. He'll be sorry he wasn't here when you woke up." Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke soothingly to Taylor. "But you'll be okay. It will take a little while for your legs to heal but you'll be okay."

"Trailer?" Taylor still didn't comprehend what had happened to her.

"Yes, it rolled over on you. It landed on your legs," she replied, stroking Taylor's arm as if it would pacify the reality of the accident. "Cesar found you. That man was so upset about it he could barely talk. He and Lexie stood outside the operating room every minute you were in there. They wouldn't even sit down. They just paced, Cesar, Lexie and your father, back and forth."

"What happened to my legs?" Taylor asked, her voice still weak.

"They are broken, honey. You had to have surgery on the left one. The doctor put a plate in it and some screws. But he said you'd be fine. Don't worry. You'll just need some time to heal. They'll take good care of you, sweetheart. You'll be up and around in a few months. You are a strong person. I know you'll be fine in no time."

Taylor shook her head. She couldn't accept what her mother was saying. She didn't want to believe she had broken her legs. It was all a dream, a bad dream. She wanted to wake up and be back to her old self. She wanted to saddle her horse and go for a ride.

She wanted the fresh Texas wind blowing through her hair. Taylor closed her eyes tight, trying to force away her mother's news and the pain that consumed her.

"I'm so sorry, honey. But the doctor said you'll just need to rest and get better. When your legs heal, you'll take some physical therapy to get your strength back. You just have to be patient so your body can heal itself."

Taylor shook her head. She grabbed the sheet with both hands and stiffened her body. She didn't want to accept it. She couldn't accept it. There was no way she was going to be stuck in a bed with both legs suspended like this for months. She had things to do. There were calves to inoculate and brand. There were heifers to watch for their first calves and fences to mend. She couldn't be stuck in a bed. She couldn't.

"Tell the doctor I need to go home," she said through closed eyes.

Sylvia patted her hand softly.

"Honey, you can't."

"Tell the doctor I need to go home," she repeated, her fore­head furrowed with determination.

"Taylor, listen to me," her mother started.

Taylor opened her eyes and fixed her mother with a demand­ing stare.

"I have to go home today. I have things to do." Taylor strained against her confinement. She tried to pull herself up to a sitting position, pressing her hands down into the bed. "Call the doctor. They need to take these things off my legs. I need to get out of bed." She reached down and grabbed at the bandages.

"Taylor, no. Don't do that. Don't touch those. Lay down, honey." Sylvia pushed on Taylor's shoulders, trying to ease her back against the pillow. When she couldn't do it, she pressed the call button. A nurse came into the room and immediately grabbed Taylor by the shoulders and pushed her down.

"You have to lay back, Ms. Fleming. Please don't do that."

"I have to get out of bed. I have work to do. Take these things off my legs," she said, frantically pulling at the sheet and reach­ing for the slings.

"If you don't stop that, I'll have to restrain you, Ms. Fleming," the nurse said harshly. "Now lay back and relax." The nurse grabbed Taylor by the wrists and pushed her back into the bed. Taylor was surprised at how weak she was. She considered herself a strong woman, able to defend herself and carry her own weight. But the effort she had exerted had completely exhausted her. She fell back against the pillow, her body spent.

"That's better," the nurse said, checking the IV and the slings. "Now just rest. Would you like something to drink?"

Taylor shook her head. She slept on and off throughout the night. She sipped a few mouthfuls of water but she wasn't hungry or thirsty. The hours were all the same, full of pain, fitful sleep and confusing thoughts of how she would deal with her strange imprisonment. Her mother slept in a chair next to her bed, occasionally coming to adjust her covers and pat her hand. Taylor tried once to convince her to leave but she couldn't make the words come out the way she wanted. She finally gave up, her mother's reassuring presence a comfort she came to rely on each time she opened her eyes.

"Ms. Fleming," a new voice said. Taylor opened her eyes. The light from the window grew as the curtains were parted. "Would you like a bath, Ms. Fleming?"

Taylor looked over at the chair where her mother had spent the night.

"Your mother went down to the cafeteria for breakfast. She said to tell you she'd be back in a little while. She has the sweetest smile."

"What time is it?" Taylor asked through cotton-mouth.

"It's nine thirty, sleepy head," the woman said happily. "Are you ready to meet the day?"

Taylor's eyes widened. She hadn't slept past nine since she was a child with chicken pox. She couldn't believe no one had wakened her. She had a headache and this woman's Pollyanna attitude was only making it worse.

"We'll get you a nice bath and then maybe you'll want a bite to eat," the nurse said.

"I take showers, not baths," Taylor said.

The nurse chuckled.

"You won't be taking showers for a while, honey. I'll get a pan of hot water and some towels. Be right back." The nurse disap­peared into the bathroom. Taylor could hear the water running as the nurse hummed cheerfully. She returned with a plastic pan of water, several towels, a clean hospital gown, a toothbrush and toothpaste and a bottle of baby bath. She rearranged the bedside table and pushed the IV stand to the head of the bed.

"I think I have to use the lady's room," Taylor said, aware of her full bladder. She couldn't imagine this small woman was strong enough to help her out of bed and into the bathroom alone. The nurse didn't say anything. She kept humming and arranging the bath supplies. "I said—"

"I heard you, hon. But you don't have to worry about it."

Taylor didn't understand why she seemed so indifferent. This was one of the chores, as unpleasant as it was, nurses had to deal with. Taylor wished she didn't have to ask for help but she knew she couldn't get up and out of the slings without help.

"But—" she started. Suddenly the urge flowed out of her. She no longer had to go. "What happened?" Taylor's eyes got wide.

"You have a catheter, honey," the nurse replied and pulled back the sheet. "Let's get this gown off and get you cleaned up."

Taylor was still digesting the news that she had a catheter as the nurse removed the hospital gown, leaving her exposed to the world. Her first impulse was to cover herself with her hands but before she could move, she felt the comforting warmth of a washcloth against her chest. The nurse gently washed one breast then the other, the smell of baby bath soothing and familiar.

"I love the smell of this. Don't you?" the nurse said as she lathered Taylor's stomach. "I think everyone loves the smell of baby bath." She continued washing, drifting down Taylor's abdomen. As she approached her pubic area, Taylor closed her eyes. She didn't want to accept she was thirty-six years old and having to be washed by a perfect stranger. The nurse washed her, pulling her thighs apart and working the washcloth between her legs. Taylor gasped, her embarrassment growing as the nurse's exploration of her private parts increased. By the time she had rinsed and patted her dry, Taylor was sure her face was bright red.

"Can you pull yourself up a bit with the bar? I'll wash your back if you can."

Taylor opened her eyes.

"What bar?" she asked.

The nurse pointed to the trapeze bar hanging over her head by a chain and attached to the bed frame. Taylor hadn't noticed it before. She tried to reach for it but her arms felt like rubber. She lunged for it but missed and her hand fell back onto the bed.

"That's okay. We'll just do what we can," the nurse said. She helped Taylor roll as far as she could to each side, washing the part of her back that was exposed. After the bath was over, the nurse applied lotion, massaging Taylor's shoulders and arms with tender strokes. She dressed her in a fresh gown and covered her with a clean sheet. She put a clean pillowcase on the pillow and helped Taylor brush her teeth.

"We won't change the bottom sheet right now. We'll need a lift for that." The nurse dumped the water and rearranged the bed table, leaving Taylor clean but exhausted. She never thought a bath could be so strenuous.

"There's my beautiful daughter," Sylvia said with a bright smile as she opened the door and peeked in. "Did you have a nice bath, honey?" She rushed to Taylor's side and went about adjusting the sheet and pillow.

Taylor just looked at her. She couldn't possibly explain the humiliation of having a perfect stranger wash between her legs.

"What day is it?" Taylor asked.

"Wednesday, dear. Don't you remember? Of course you don't," she chuckled. "You slept away Monday and Tuesday."

Taylor stared out the window. She couldn't believe she'd lost two whole days.

"Ms. Fleming," another nurse said brightly, bursting into the room. "How are you feeling? Do you have an appetite yet?" She was carrying a tray of food. She set it on the bed table and rolled it in front of Taylor. She then pressed the button and raised the head of the bed. "You may not want much but see if you can manage a little." She removed the plastic plate cover to reveal a bowl of broth. It didn't have anything in it and looked like Taylor's bath water after a day roping cattle.

"What is that?" Taylor asked, staring down at the tray.

"Beef broth. And you have some little gelatin squares. It's strawberry, I think. And some tea. Do you like sugar in your tea, honey?" the nurse asked, trying to be cheerful.

Taylor frowned at her. Sylvia busied herself with Taylor's food tray, tucking the napkin into her hospital gown and testing the temperature of the broth.

"It's not too hot, honey. This will be good for you. I haven't had a nice cup of beef broth in years." She dipped the spoon in the bowl and held it up to Taylor's lips. "Here you go, sweetheart. We'll do this slowly."

"I don't want any," Taylor said through clenched teeth.

"Ms. Fleming, you really need to eat something. The sooner you can eat solid food, the sooner you can get rid of the IV," the nurse said. "We need you to regain your strength."

"I don't want any broth," Taylor said, closing her eyes and turning away from the spoon.

"We can start with one of these little cubes of Jell-O," Sylvia offered, cutting a piece and holding it up.

Taylor tossed a glare at her mother.

"Would you like chicken broth instead?" the nurse asked, trying to be helpful.

"No. What I want is to get out of this bed and get dressed. I want a greasy cheeseburger and a large pop. I'll tell you what you can do with this tray."

"Taylor!" her mother interrupted abruptly.

"How do you expect me to get my strength back by feeding me dirty water? Bring me a steak, well done."

"Ms. Fleming, you have to work up to that. Your body has been through a traumatic ordeal. You have to take it slowly. Your digestive system may not be fully functional yet." The nurse gave her a sympathetic pat. "Don't worry, honey. By next week, we'll have you eating lots of things. The hospital fixes a lovely meat-loaf and mashed potatoes on Fridays and chicken fried steak on Monday. Just be patient and you'll be eating everything in sight in no time."

Taylor glared up at the nurse's patronizing tone.

"I don't plan on being here long enough for meatloaf day," she declared.

The nurse looked at Sylvia. Sylvia shook her head, as if dis­couraging her remarks.

"Well, I don't. I'll be home by tomorrow." Taylor fixed her with a determined stare.

"Honey, you may be here a little longer than that," her mother said in a kind voice. "But they'll take good care of you. You don't need to worry about the ranch. Your father has already talked with Cesar and Lexie. They can cover the work just fine. You just rest and get better."

Taylor didn't like the nurse's condescending attitude but from her mother it was worse. She was not going to lay there and be treated like an invalid. She was going to be up and back to work in a day or two, three at the most. She was not going to be stuck in a bed. She was not.

"Good morning," a man said, opening the door and striding in. He was tall and distinguished looking, slightly graying at the temples. His white lab coat was neatly buttoned and he wore a pair of shiny black cowboy boots. The name embroidered above the coat pocket read Dr. Elvin Potter, MD. He checked the chart he was carrying and smiled at Taylor. "How are you feeling, Ms. Fleming? How is the pain? Have they been keeping up with that for you?"

"It hurts like heck," she replied.

He laughed and unpinned a safety pin from his lapel.

"Tell me if you feel this, Ms. Fleming," he said, touching the pin point to the bottom of her feet.

"Ouch," she grimaced.

"Good. How about this one?"

"Ouch, yes," she replied, flinching at the pinprick.

He reattached the pin to his lapel then examined under the bandages.

"We'll be able to get the casts on later today. The swelling looks better. You'll be more comfortable with the casts on." He patted her leg and wrote something on the chart.

"Can I go home today?" Taylor asked.

"Not today," he replied, still writing.

"Tomorrow?"

"No. I don't think so, Ms. Fleming. We don't want to rush it." He didn't look at her. He seemed determined to keep his eyes off of Taylor's stare.

"When?" she insisted.

"It's hard to tell. You had a nasty accident. We had to put six screws in your left leg. You have to take it easy for a while. Your right leg wasn't as bad but it needs time to heal as well." He took a small flashlight from his pocket and leaned down to examine Taylor's eyes. "How's your head. Any headaches? Blurred vision? Lightheadedness?"

"No," she replied, wondering why he was checking her eyes when it was her legs that had the bandages.

"She was a little confused yesterday," her mother offered.

"That was probably the anesthesia wearing off." The doctor listened to her heart and lungs with his stethoscope. "I don't think the concussion was very severe."

"What concussion?" Taylor asked.

"Can you cough for me?" he asked, ignoring her question.

She gave a small cough which sent a shooting pain down her legs.

"Sounds good. Your lungs are clear." He draped the stetho­scope around his neck and felt her abdomen. He seemed pleased with his examination and went back to writing in her chart. "Are you eating a little, Ms. Fleming?" he asked, looking down at her tray of uneaten food.

"When they bring me something to eat, I'll eat it," she replied.

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14